


not quite retired

by Qrth



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), San Francisco Lovers (Blaseball Team)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qrth/pseuds/Qrth
Summary: morrow wilson was expecting a lot of things to happen in the season 11 elections. this wasn't one of them.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. knock at the door

It’s 6:03 am, and someone is knocking on Morrow Wilson’s apartment door. They have been for about three minutes now, a steady, even-tempo knock. The type of knock that rings out through the apartment with a dull sound, the type of knock that Morrow will probably hear in their nightmares going forward. 

Morrow is awake, and they can hear the door. But they have no intention of getting up, not yet. They’re sunk deep in their cheap comfortable couch that they bought with Reese and Teddy when they went thrifting a few seasons ago, two suitcases at their feet. They knew they were going to have to leave this morning, and even so, they aren’t ready to do so. Morrow spent all night on this couch, organizing and reorganizing the things they own into those two suitcases. They seemed so small when they were packing them, but now they feel as if they’re standing guard in front of them, protecting Morrow from the conversation they know they’re going to have when that door opens.

As the person at the door knocks again, Morrow sighs and stands. They grab their suitcases, one in each hand. They’re heavier than they expected, packed to the brim with trinkets and memories from their past few seasons in blaseball.

As a child, there was no way Morrow could have fit everything they owned in two suitcases. They had a closet full of bright and colorful outfits, a trunk full of treasured toys and all the stuffed toys a young kid could ask for. Then they lost all that when they had to go train with the sages, who harped on and on about material possessions being weaknesses and unnecessary. When they had packed their bag to run away from there, all the things they owned could fit into a single lightweight backpack.

And then when they were a movie star, they owned enough junk to fill up six houses and still have garbage to spare. None of the things really mattered to them, though. When they lost it all during the rescue operation and showed up on the doorstep of the Pies with nothing in their possession but a bad attitude and bitterness, none of it really would have been made better for keeping a suitcase or two of garbage, paid for by that vile Turnip family.

But these suitcases aren’t full of garbage. These suitcases are filled with things that Morrow collected so that they wouldn’t forget their team in the shadows. 

Three custom made trench coats, one for each environment they could find themselves in. A choker to remind them of their seasons on the Pies, and their acceptance of them despite all Morrow’s issues. A handmade bracelet from Son. The purple and white tie-dye bandana Teddy bought them. A spellbook from Marco, fully annotated. The hard candy that Sosa and Comfy made in the shape of a little magnifying glass, that was more glass than candy. The heavy duty flashlight Jordan had made them, to help with short-distance teleportation in the dark. The tape recorder Math suggested they use to try and talk through their feelings (complete with several tapes Morrow made of some Spies downtimes). A convenient bag of toothbrushes, shampoo, conditioner and all other matter of on-the-go items from Denzel, all average quality. A pair of heelies, from Karato. Home-made granola bars from Malik. Fingerless gloves and their accompanying gloveless fingers from Reese. And finally, the bat that Alex and Fitz worked together to pick out for them. Even after their allergic reaction that left them feeling weak, the bat was never heavy in their hands. It was weighed perfectly, and if Morrow swung it the right way, it would always hit it’s target. It’s not the bat’s fault that all they seemed to do was miss now.

Morrow hears the bag of hard candy clack together as they move their suitcase with all of their mementos in it. They’d be worried about it breaking, if Comfort wasn’t the one that had made it. 

“It’ll survive,” they say under their breath, moving to the door. “Time to see if I will.” They suck in one big lungful of air, like it’s going to be the last clean one they get, and then they use their magic to slowly creak open the door.

The agent standing outside their door isn’t one Morrow recognizes. That’s not too strange, though. It would be worse if it was Alex or Fitz condemning them to the darkness of the shadows. Morrow doesn’t know if they could take that.

“Agent Wilson. I’m here to take you to your next assignment.” They say, voice devoid of emotion. God, Morrow wishes that could be them.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Morrow fixes their hat on their head. “Are you going to let me see Donia on my way out, or is this going to be a ‘ships in the night’ thing?”

“You are not going into the shadows, Agent Wilson.” They say.

Morrow’s heart skips a beat. 

They’re not getting rid of them? They have to stay? They get to stay? They have to keep failing them, over and over and over? They don’t have to be stranded in the shadows? 

There’s a rush of joy, and anger, and hopelessness. The agent at their door does not seem like they’re going to continue speaking without prompting. 

“What? The hell are you here for, then?” Morrow says, unable to keep their words untainted by bitterness. “What do you want from me?”

“You will be batting for the San Francisco Lovers, effective immediately.”


	2. parker meng

Morrow is standing in the San Francisco airport, and everything feels like a haze. Time is passing in a slow molasses crawl, and each second blurs into the next. They don’t really know how to feel, like always, but there’s no sharp anger prickling through the surface of muddled thoughts. It’d be easier if there was something to be angry at. It’s always easier if there’s something to be angry at. But there’s not, really. For Morrow, at least.

They pick at the side of their coffee cup, and wonder if the Lovers will be mad at them. They’d be justified in it, they think. Morrow would be mad at the person ‘replacing’ their team captain, if they were in those shoes. The Lovers do have a reputation of being incredibly welcoming but… it’s not guaranteed, for Morrow. They know they’ve tried to mellow out over the last few seasons with the Spies, but they also know their defense mechanism of snippy comments and lashing out doesn’t really help making new friends.

It’s not like they expect to be here for long. Morrow’s under no illusions of grandeur when it comes to actually playing blaseball, and they don’t think they actually bring anything of use to the team off-the-field. With the Spies, they might not have been great at the spy work they did, but they could feel like they were contributing even a little. They don’t even know what the Lovers do in their off-time. Hopefully it wasn’t more blaseball.

A terse voice pulls them from their thoughts.“Morrow Wilson, right?” 

Morrow looks up from their half-empty coffee, knowing they look like a hot mess. “Yeah, that’s me,” they say with their voice a bit ragged, “You’re from the Lovers?”

“Yes,” The stylish and stern-looking woman in front of them nods, then offers her hand to them. “I’m Parker Meng. Current co-captain.” 

Morrow takes her hand, and looks at the first of their new teammates. They don’t really want to get to know a full new team, get invested in people who probably won’t even like them, but they have to try. For the people that care about them, because their team wouldn’t want them to be alone. And the first step of making friends is knowing about them

On first glance, Parker looks perfectly put together. Well coordinated outfit, expertly done makeup, undercut expertly styled. But Morrow is on- no, was on, the Spies. They still know how to read people, and they definitely know the signs of someone using makeup to hide the fact that they’d been crying. They also know how to identify when someone has pulled themselves together in order to look strong. That was all too common on the Spies, keeping yourself from crumbling and helping others with your glued together pieces. 

“You looking for something, Morrow?” Parker says, still holding their hand in hers. Her eye contact isn’t accusatory, but Morrow can feel it pierce through them. 

Morrow pulls their hand away like it’s been burned. “Ah, shit, my bad.” They shove it in a jacket pocket, and hope they haven’t tanked their first impression even further. “Bad habit.”

“Gotcha. Well, you’ve got your stuff, right?” Parker says, moving past that.

“Yeah, it’s just this.” Morrow grabs their suitcases, one handle in each hand. 

“I’ll take one.” Parker says, and goes to grab one. Morrow doesn’t want to let go of it, but they do. She’s trying to help. This is a new teammate, a new ally. They should be trying to make friends, and make nice. 

Parker starts walking, a brisk pace, and Morrow hurries to follow. She’s not saying anything else, and as they head in the direction of the parking lot, they feel like they should start a conversation. 

There’s something in the back of their mind that tells them they shouldn’t try to say anything. That they should give the co-captain of the Lovers time to process, that it can’t be easy to cope with this big of a change. But they also know a lot of those things are excuses. Excuses to not try. Excuses to not have to try and get attached. 

But those are excuses, and Morrow’s been telling themselves they need to stop making those.

“So... '' Morrow starts, putting their suitcases into Parker’s trunk, “Why did you get into blaseball?” They immediately regret that question, as they realize that they do not want it asked back to them. But it’s too late for that.

“I wanted to win.” Parker shuts the hood of her car. “And I was good at the splort. So I formed a team, and I started winning.”

Morrow nods, tapping their fingers on their sleeve. “That’s as good of a reason as any, yeah.” They move over to the shotgun door, noting the impressiveness of the vehicle. “So you… started the Lovers?”

“Not these Lovers.” Parker says, and gets in the car. Morrow follows, waiting for her to elaborate. It would be a weird thing to say, if Morrow wasn’t already used to the wild stuff that happens in Blaseball.

“Another dimension’s Lovers.” she says shortly, and they can suddenly see the same far away look in her eyes that Math gets sometimes. They shouldn’t have brought this up, they think. 

Morrow shifts awkwardly in their shotgun seat, unsure of what to say. Sorry? Hope you’re doing better now? Parker starts the car instead of saying anything else. Morrow’s mind starts to start the “she-hates-you-now” wheel turning. The silence is heavy in the air, and on Morrow’s mind. Did they already blow it for a second time?   
They know that getting into Blaseball is pretty much always a sensitive thing, in this sort of league. What a stupid question to ask. Now they’re going to have to sit in silence for the entire car ride to the Polyhedron, having already pissed off the co-captain of the team they wanted to get along with. She probably hates him now.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“Huh?” Morrow says, their brain incapable of making simple connections amidst the fog of imagining the worst case scenario.

“Your seatbelt, Morrow,” Parker says, brushing past their hand as she pats on the buckle. “I don’t know what kind of special ‘no crash’ vehicles you Spies have, but you need to wear one. We’re going on the highway.”

“Oh,” They say, obliging. Parker gives a small, satisfied nod, and then the car quickly speeds out of the parking lot. Their hand, where she brushed it, feels warm.

Morrow shouldn’t be shocked at such a simple act of kindness. It’s not like they haven’t experienced them before but… there’s no reason for Parker to care. In fact, there’s quite clearly the opposite. But how she made sure of his safety felt different than agents ensuring other agents weren’t assassinated. It felt warmer.

They don’t know how they’re going to survive letting this team down.


	3. percival wheeler

“Alright, I’m going to have to get someone else to do your tour.” Parker says, popping the trunk and hoisting Morrow’s suitcases to them.

“Yeah, alright,” Morrow takes their bags, looking up at the huge colorful building. “I have a feeling I’ll definitely need a tour of this place.”

Parker chuckles, shutting the trunk. “There’s no way it’s more confusing than a Spies base. There’s signs on some parts of it.” She checks her phone for the time, moving to open the car door. “I got to get moving though. Don is going to need a pickup.”

“Don.. Mitchell, right?” Morrow asks. They remember some names from the games they’ve played against them, and they vaguely remember someone looking 

“Yeah. He’s mid vent-heist,” Parker says, “I’m fairly certain he didn’t think to get a ride-share getaway vehicle this time, and the traffic downtown is killer in the morning.”

Morrow blinks at this, then nods. They don’t really understand what’s going on there, but they’re not going to question anything. “Sure. Uh… should I just… wait at the door?”

“Probably. Percy will find you even if you wander in,” she says, opening the car door, “A knight’s duty, and all that.”

“Alright,” Morrow says, “Alright, thanks.” They look down at their shoes, then back up at Parker. They don’t want to apologize. They shouldn’t apologize, because they haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not their fault the blaseball fans thought it was a good idea to take away the Lovers team captain, and replace them with Morrow. It’s not their fault, but Morrow feels like they should say something to this co-captain, who has been nothing but pleasant, before she drives off somewhere else with a bad impression. 

In the silent moment, Parker slides into her nice looking car, rolling down the window and closing the door in an effortlessly smooth motion. Morrow opens their mouth, meaning to… apologize, they think, but she cuts them off.

“Morrow.”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“I know this isn’t what either of us expected,” Parker says, tone serious. “But, welcome to the Lovers. You’re one of us now, and we take care of our own.”

Morrow doesn’t really know how to respond to that. They’ve heard it before, from their Spies teammates. They still had trouble believing it, even after they showed it again and again, season after season. It would make more sense if Parker is just throwing platitudes at them. But the truth behind her voice is unmistakably genuine.

While Morrow is trying to figure out how to shove the idea of ‘This new team will take care of you’ past the block of ‘You will not be an asset here’ in their brain, Parker waves at them, and starts her drive to pick up her other teammate.“I’ll see you when I get back, Morrow,” Parker calls back to them, “If you can’t use a sword, don’t take the sword Percy offers you.”

Morrow says a vague agreement to that, still standing a little starstruck on the sidewalk next to the entrance. They don’t know whether or not to hope that all of the Lovers are like Parker, or to hope she’s an exception. She seems nice enough, but that’s before she’s seen Morrow whiff a hundred swings or get out for the third time in one inning. That’s before someone says something innocuous, and they can’t stop themselves from being an asshole for no good reason. The look of disappointment that floods the face of someone who wants to care about you as you’re making it hard for them is the kind of thing that stays steady in Morrow’s nightmares.

“And you must be Morrow!” says an overly loud and overly warm voice.

Morrow spins around, coming face to face with probably one of the most beautiful people they’ve ever seen. Stylish knight armor, hair in a perfectly messy ponytail and a stunning smile shine back at them, and they are starstruck again, for an entirely more superficial reason.

The knight offers her hand, and Morrow reaches out to shake it. Instead of a shake, however, the knight does the thing Morrow thought people only did in movies. 

“My name is Percival Wheeler,” she says, bending down to press a light kiss to their knuckles, then straightening up again. “It is an honor to meet you, just as it will be an honor fighting alongside you.”

“Wow,” is the only thing Morrow can say for a few seconds. Then, they collect themselves a bit more. “Yeah, great to meet you too. Sucks that it’s like this.”

“The whims of the fans aren’t on your shoulders, Morrow,” Percival says, as if it’s as simple as that. “Now, we should really be getting started with the tour. I believe there are plans for a team lunch together, and there is a lot of ground to cover.”

She starts off in a brisk stride into the entrance of the Polyhedron, and Morrow doesn’t even notice she had picked up both their bags with ease until they’re already halfway into what seems like what once was an abandoned building, and now is a room for collecting as many neon pieces of furniture as possible. 

“So, Parker dropped you off at the back entrance, close to where the team normally lives for home game stuff,” She says, swinging her sword to point back to where they came in. Morrow hadn’t noticed the sword at first, but it wasn’t really a surprising addition to Percival’s whole thing. Morrow is pretty used to being around people with swords, since Alexandria basically carries theirs everywhere. “If you want to get anywhere else, there’s like a dozen different better entrances.”

“So this is just… a back alley entrance that you all use?” Morrow says, looking around. Things are starting to look a lot less ‘abandoned building’ as they walk, and more along the lines of ‘suave bachelor pad’. “How do you know how to get around everywhere else?”

“Well, a lot of it’s practice,” Percival says. “But a big part of it is that normally, if you want to go somewhere, someone around can help you find it. If you wanted assistance finding the cheapest coffee shops, Kichiro could help you with that. If you wanted to find an empty place to practice, Parker could help with that as well.”

Morrow bristles a bit at that. Was that supposed to be a jab at them? Something about having to practice away from the team? It probably wasn’t, but they can’t stop the scowl that flits over their face for a second.

“And the citizens that live around here are very up to helping find places as well,” Luckily enough, Percival is preoccupied by tour giving, and either didn’t notice it, or is pretending not to notice. “So, you don’t have to worry about memorizing where everything is right away. I’ll just be giving you the basics.” 

“And there’s a blaseball stadium somewhere in here?” Morrow says as they pass by what looks like a room exclusively filled with large fluffy pillows. 

“Yes, and a garden,” Percival says, taking a large step over a pile of bean bags in the hallway. “Milo will probably want to show you that though, so I won’t overstep.”

“A garden, huh.” Morrow hasn’t ever really gotten into gardening, but they know Marco grows their own herbs, and constantly complained about how hard it was to keep everything in order. “Seems like there’s basically everything here.”

“It’s a community, and it’s home,” Percival stops outside an ornate door, sheathing her sword at her side. “And this is one of the hubs of team activity, most of the time. It has the most couches.”

Morrow stops as well, looking at the door. They make no move to open it. Best case scenario, there’s no other Lovers in there right now and they can walk on through to continue to the tour. Worst case scenario springs to mind though, and they imagine a room full of team members mourning the loss of their captain. They absolutely do not want to open that door.

Percival, either not sensing their apprehension or not giving into it, opens the door anyway, and strolls confidently in. She’s still pulling both of their suitcases. Morrow lets out a short quiet sigh, and follows in after her. 

The room is pinker than literally anything else Morrow has ever seen. And yet, it still feels tactful. In the Spies, the common rooms are very minimalist in nature, function over form. But this is a grand lounge, with what looks like enough soft surfaces for two entire teams to lounge on. There’s a fireplace in the center of the back-wall in the room, with a comforting flickering flame.

The room seems empty, at first glance. Morrow sighs again, this time in relief.

“Oh, is _that_ Morrow?” A new voice, smooth and seductive, shatters that notion, “Percival, you didn’t tell me the new Lover was going to be _cute_?”


End file.
